


Darjeeling

by okapi



Series: Twelve Cups of Tea [8]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Daddy Kink, Daddy!John, F/F, Fem!John - Freeform, Fem!Sherlock, Food Play, Genderswap, John Using Sex to Get Sherlock to Eat, Male!Mrs. Hudson - Freeform, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking, Strap-Ons, Tea, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 04:23:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2414807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has afternoon tea with Daddy. Fem!Johnlock PWP. Daddy kink with a strap-on. Featuring food play, tickling, and spanking. TW for John using sex to get Sherlock to eat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darjeeling

John turned onto Baker Street.

_Four, no, five days since the last case. No fire brigade. Good._

As she reached the front door, she braced herself for the probability that Sherlock was self-medicating boredom with a messy, smelly, biohazardous experiment that had already destroyed half the flat.

Like last month, when on a day much like today, John had returned from the surgery to find World Health Organization scientists in hazmat garb as well as individuals that Mycroft’s minions would later spirit away in a dark, unmarked van, collecting samples from their toaster oven. Quarantine had not been without its silver lining, but John wasn’t looking forward to an encore.

_Here we go._

John took a deep breath as she climbed the stairs.

_Doesn’t smell noxious. It actually smells quite...nice._

“Holy Mary! Sherlock?”

“Hmm?” A voice came from the kitchen.

“Were we attacked by florists?”

Bouquets of flowers rested on every horizontal surface in the sitting room. The entire space was awash in white and pink: roses, sweet pea, and small, delicate blossoms that John couldn’t name. Blooming vines stretched artfully from one piece of furniture to another. Sherlock emerged with a tea tray and set it on the small rectangular table in front of the sofa.

John gave her a gesture that she had first used at Buckingham Palace, but had since found many occasions to employ; in essence: ‘What in the bloody fuck is going on?’

“Afternoon tea!”

John stared at the prim table, set for two with a crisp white tablecloth. In the centre was a three-tiered stand of small sandwiches, scones, and pastries. Clotted cream, jam, butter, polished silver down to the napkin rings, a Wedgewood set that John had never seen before.

_Client?_

“For two!”

John hung her jacket on a hook. “I’d love to say that I have that ‘sinking feeling,’ but frankly, I’m starved. Looks good. Let me wash my hands, and I’m yours.”

_There’s Something Going On, but I’ll wait for my cue._

They sat on the sofa, side by side. John helped herself to a cucumber sandwich. Sherlock poured tea.

“Amazing, my Love,” said John, between bites. “You’ve managed to create the first blush of spring in the middle of autumn.” John lifted one of the white blossoms from the vine winding along the top of the sofa and sniffed. Then, she gazed around the room and nodded in appreciation of the garden scene. “Quite magical.”

Sherlock pushed an egg and cress sandwich and a petit four around her plate. “How was your day?” she asked.

A scone stopped halfway to John’s mouth.

_Christ, she’s definitely reading from a script, but damned if I have a bloody clue what my lines are. Yet. Sniffles and piles are ‘boring.’_

“Flu’s running amok. Tis the season.” John sipped her tea and then studied the cup. “Is this the new Darjeeling? Nice. Came recommended.”

“More?”

“Yes, please. Thank you.”

Sherlock stood up and walked all the way around the table, swaying her hips so the edge of her short dress lifted. John caught a glimpse of white thigh-high stockings.

_Hello!_

John put her cup back in her saucer and took in the full measure of the woman in front of her. Sherlock wore a pink, gauzy wrap dress, cut out in the back to reveal a swath of skin.

Now there were many unspoken rules in 221B, about everything from domestic life to amorous encounters. One was that wrap dresses were, under every circumstance, meant to be _unwrapped_. At some point. Sherlock bent unnecessarily low to pour John’s tea, a pale pink brassiere and the soft curve of her breast on display. John licked her lips and said,

“You look like candy floss. Come here.”

Sherlock’s eyes twinkled, and she set the teapot on the table. Then, she straddled John’s lap facing her.

“Look at you,” said John, nuzzling between her breasts and planting a soft kiss in the valley. “My girl.”

Sherlock’s face lit up. “Your _sweet_ girl.”

“My sweet girl,” echoed John, smiling and then licking inside curves of Sherlock’s breasts.

“Your sweet _baby_ girl.”

John stopped.

 _Finally_.

“Ah,” said John, feeling a slight tension in Sherlock’s body and an invitation hanging in the air. “My sweet baby girl. _Daddy’s_ girl?” She looked up at Sherlock with a raised eyebrow.

“Yesss,” said Sherlock. She relaxed into John’s embrace and rolled her hips.

_Invitation accepted, my Dear. Let’s play._

John dipped her finger in the clotted cream and drew two lines down Sherlock’s cleavage. She licked the skin clean while Sherlock sucked on the pad of her finger.

“So while Daddy was hard at work, you put together this splendid tea.” John reached for her cup, sipped, and returned it to the table.

“Mm-hmm.”

“But you’re not eating,” said John reproachfully, nodding to the untouched plate. Sherlock pouted.

“Don’t want to.”

John pushed the vine from the back corner of the sofa and patted it with her hand. “Come sit up here and eat, and Daddy will make you feel good.” John winked. Sherlock narrowed her eyes at her. John raised an eyebrow.

_Two are playing this game, Sherlock._

Sherlock huffed, but she climbed onto the sofa edge. John pushed the table a safe distance away. She placed a sandwich in her hand and offered it to Sherlock.

“Eat.”

Sherlock made a dramatic show of biting the sandwich and chewing. John pushed up Sherlock’s dress and licked the centre of the white knickers with a broad, flat tongue, soaking the entire swath of fabric. “Open your legs a little wider, sweetheart.” Sherlock spread her knees wide; John continued licking. Sherlock’s moans were stifled by chewing.

“Mm-mm-mm.”

“Daddy will be very cross if you drop egg and cress on his head, precious.” John kissed Sherlock’s inner thighs.

“Mmm!” said Sherlock.

John snuck her tongue beneath the white silk and licked Sherlock’s skin and hair.

“Mmm! Mmm!”

“How about this?” asked John, holding up a petit four.

“No!” Sherlock batted it out of John’s hand. The tiny cake went in one direction and Sherlock in went the other, diving over John toward the far end of the sofa.

“Come here!” growled John. Sherlock squealed and made a feeble attempt to scamper away. John pulled her by the knees, face down on the sofa, until she was across John’s lap, her dress bunched up to the waist.

“What happens to naughty girls that don’t obey their Daddies?”

“Oh, oh!”

John yanked Sherlock’s knickers down until they spanned the tops of her thighs.

_Whack! Whack!_

“They get spanked!”

Sherlock lurched again, and John pulled her back.

_Whack! Whack!_

John’s hand left rosy prints on Sherlock’s cheeks.

 _“_ Oh, Daddy! I’ll be good.” John raised one leg slightly, and Sherlock began to writhe against it.

“One more, Love.”

“OH!”

_Whack! Whack!_

“That’s enough.” John massaged Sherlock’s buttocks and bent her head to lick and bite at the skin. “Daddy loves his baby’s bottom. He doesn’t like hurting it.” John reached and scooped cream with three fingers, painting Sherlock’s round flesh. “Let Daddy eat his candy floss girl’s sweet bottom.” As John licked, Sherlock moved back and forth against John’s leg and the sofa. She moaned softly.

“Are you wet, sweetness?” asked John.

Sherlock nodded into the sofa. “ _Please touch me, Daddy_.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely...”

John removed Sherlock’s knickers and traced Sherlock’s folds gently. “ _Daddy!_ ” mewled Sherlock when John probed her. John pumped one, then two fingers, in and out of Sherlock, feeling her growing wetness and her internal muscles clenching. With her other hand, she caressed Sherlock’s buttocks and lower back.

Sherlock’s rutting increased in speed. She pushed up on one elbow and slid a hand down her clit.

“That’s right, play with yourself, sweetness. Daddy loves to watch his princess play.” John and Sherlock locked eyes. “So pretty, Daddy loves his girl so much.”

“OH!” cried Sherlock. John felt the tremor inside Sherlock as she collapsed. John removed her fingers, and Sherlock turned on her back, grinning. Then, John gently untied Sherlock’s dress and pulled the sides apart. Sherlock leaned back along the sofa, adjusting a pillow under her. John drank in her skin and curves and colours.

“Let Daddy see those pretty bubs,” said John, nodding to Sherlock’s brassiere. “Show them to me.” Sherlock unclasp the front of bra and spread the sides of fabric. “Play with those pretties. Make them hard for Daddy, please.” Sherlock toyed with her nipples, squeezing and rubbing until they pebbled.

“Perfect, my angel. So pretty, my candy floss girl.” John reached for the nearest bouquet of flowers and plucked a long-stemmed pink rose from the bunch. She traced Sherlock’s face and body with the bud. As it trailed across Sherlock’s ribs, Sherlock giggled.

“Tickles, Daddy.” John dropped the flower and crawled up Sherlock’s body. She tickled Sherlock’s ribs and under her arms; Sherlock howled and squeaked. John nuzzled Sherlock’s neck as she squirmed and then bit at the juncture of neck and shoulder.

“Oh! Daddy bit me!” cried Sherlock, pouting.

“Just a love bite. Because you’re so sweet.” Sherlock turned her head and offered the other side of her neck. John obliged.

Then Sherlock curled off the sofa and picked up the discarded rose from the floor. John put space between the two of them and watched as Sherlock drew the bud down her neck and chest and stomach, stopping to tease each nipple. Then she opened her legs wide and brushed the head of the rose to her pubic hair.

 _Christ, the colour of the rose matches...her colour_.

John blushed, and Sherlock threw her a wicked grin. John shook her head, smiling. Sherlock twirled the rose against her cunt. Then, she held it by the end of the stem, in offering to John. John kissed the petals and whispered,

“What do you want, princess?”

Sherlock’s eyes wandered across the room. Then she crawled into John’s lap.

“Are you still hungry, Daddy?”

John considered, and then nodded. Sherlock dipped her finger in the jam; John licked it, never taking her eyes from Sherlock’s.

“I want to feed Daddy his tea. While I ride his cock.” Sherlock’s eyes darkened.

John kissed her and nodded. Then, she paused.

_Cock? Where...?_

“Toilet,” said Sherlock flatly in her own voice.

_The stage is missing a fine thespian, my Dear. How you switch back and forth! The transitions kill me._

John headed to the toilet and found what was waiting for her. When she returned Sherlock was naked, save for her white stockings, kneeling on the sofa, facing away from John.

Sherlock looked over her shoulder and gave a sharp ‘Oh!’

“What are you doing?” growled John.

“Daddy,” whined Sherlock. “I was still wet. I was just...”

“Were you touching yourself without Daddy?” Sherlock nodded. “You know that’s not allowed.”

“But Daddy!” protested Sherlock as John hauled her over the end of the sofa, arse in the air.

“More spankings, sweetness. Until you can learn to obey. I want you to count.”

_Whack!_

“One.”

_Whack!_

“Two.”

_Whack!_

“Three. Oh, Daddy! I’ll be good, I promise.”

“Okay, one more.”

_Whack!_

Sherlock slid into the corner of the sofa. John settled herself on the other end and retrieved the lubricant from her pocket. She poured some in her hand and began to stroke the silicone cock that jutted from her trousers.

“Now, I want you to sit there and tell Daddy what you were thinking about when you were touching yourself.”

“I was thinking about putting jam here,” she touched her nipples, “so Daddy could lick it off.”

John licked her lips. “Daddy would love that, princess, what else?”

“I was thinking about feeding Daddy his tea. Making him proud. Making him happy.”

“Always, Love.”

“And, oh, I was thinking about his cock. Can I suck it, Daddy, please? I’ll be good.”

“Sure. Come here.” Sherlock crawled along the sofa. “Kiss, Daddy’s mouth first.” Sherlock leaned up for a chaste peck and then licked up the shaft of the cock. She covered the tip with her mouth. John put her hands behind her head and arched her hips slightly. “That’s right, sweetness.” Sherlock hummed and sat up, saliva dripping from her mouth.

“Alright, time for more tea.” John removed her shoes, socks, and trousers. She moved to the middle of the sofa and pulled the table closer. She applied more lubricant to the cock and Sherlock groaned loudly as she sank down.

“ _Daddy!_ ”

“That’s what you needed, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” whimpered Sherlock. “ _Oh, oh_.” Her hips rocked against John’s gently, continuously as she fed John an array of sandwiches, tiny fruit tarts, and macaroons, washed all down with tea.

“It’s getting cold,” said Sherlock, of the tea. “Couldn’t care less,” replied John. “Fucking this sweet candy floss pussy has made Daddy _ravenous_.” Sherlock giggled and offered John a scone, which she nibbled. Then, John decorated Sherlock’s nipples with strawberry jam and devoured them. Sherlock pulled off the cock.

John’s breathing grew ragged at the sight of the black silicone and Sherlock’s wet thighs. She pushed Sherlock roughly into the sofa.

“Daddy?”

“Open those legs, princess. Daddy needs to fuck you. Now,” ordered John in a gruff voice. She angled the cock and sank into Sherlock.

“Oh, oh, oh,” breathed Sherlock as she clung to John, arching into every one of John's thrusts.

“Taking Daddy’s cock like a big girl, so good, so good,” whispered John in Sherlock’s ear. “Sorry this is so rough, angel.” John pressed a sloppy kiss to Sherlock’s temple. Sherlock shook her head and gripped John’s buttocks tightly. “More, please, Daddy.”

John shifted them lengthwise on the sofa and resumed her fucking, watching the cock piston in and out of Sherlock's dripping cunt. She stopped and reached for Sherlock's tea cup, pouring the remainder of the Darjeeling all over Sherlock's heaving body, letting the brown liquid run over her curves and pool in the valleys. Then, John bent and licked Sherlock's entire torso with feral possessiveness.

“ _My_ baby girl,” growled John. And then, Sherlock was reaching up, seeking John’s mouth. “ _My_ angel, _my_ princess, _my_ treasure,” groaned John as she covered Sherlock’s mouth with her own. Sherlock’s hips bucked violently into John’s. John swallowed Sherlock’s cry. Then, they were kissing, open-mouth, lazily, sloppily. John broke away to see Sherlock, looking completely debauched, hair in disarray, eyes half-lidded and dazed. She caressed Sherlock’s face with her fingertips, brushed damp hair from her forehead, made soothing noises. Sherlock closed her eyes, and John pulled the cock out of her and unhooked the harness, letting the whole apparatus fall to the floor. When Sherlock opened her eyes, it was clear.

_[End scene]_

They smiled at each other, and then John said conversationally, “Not that I’m complaining, Love, but I couldn’t help but notice that Daddy’s cock is somewhat... _larger_...not to mention a different colour.”

“Daddy needed an upgrade,” said Sherlock dryly. John’s snicker turned into a loud peal of laughter. Sherlock’s eyes danced with amusement. She held up her leg over John’s lap.

“Oh, by all means,” said John and proceeded to peel the stockings from Sherlock’s legs. “Costumes off. And this sofa,” John eyed the stains ruefully, “will be in need of some heavy duty cleaning and disinfecting.”

“Thursday,” said Sherlock. “Thursday,” agreed John.

When John looked at Sherlock, she felt a sudden surge of positively _paternal_ tenderness.

“Sherlock.” John touched her cheek softly, and Sherlock turned into the touch.

“John.”

“Come here, my girl.”

Sherlock nodded, and they settled on the sofa together, Sherlock’s head on John’s chest, her ear over John’s heart. John curled a protective arm around Sherlock’s back and stroked her hair.

After some time, Sherlock pushed up on her elbows. “John?”

_How strange!_

Sherlock had just spent the better part of the afternoon feigning girlishness, and now, she could not look more young and vulnerable. John flipped them gently and pressed Sherlock’s body into the sofa with her own. She tented her face and arms around Sherlock’s head and kissed her lips softly. John might be uncertain as to the exact nature of the question, but not the needed response.

“I love you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock smiled and relaxed.

_Beep!_

In an instant, John was alone, face-down in the sofa. Sherlock scurried down the hallway, mobile in hand.

“Case!” she barked.

John sat up on the edge of sofa and rubbed her face with two hands.

_The transitions kill me._

“Pack a bag! Couple of days!”

John scooped up the clothes and toys and headed toward the stairs. “I’ll ask Mr. Hudson clean up the crumbs and find homes for all of these.” She gave a gesture to indicate the flowers, knowing that she was talking to herself.

Ten minutes later, Sherlock was stomping impatiently at the base of the stairs.

“Come on, John!”

“Alright, alright.”

John stuffed the last two scones in her pocket. She heard Sherlock’s call from the street.

“Taxi!”

 

**Author's Note:**

> John's quoting the Duchess of Bedford, said to be the creator of the tradition of afternoon tea in the 19th century. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
